


Quidditch

by CrazyPrepared (writerofberk)



Series: Like a Charm [2]
Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: Gen, let Branch rest 2k18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 18:37:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16352006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerofberk/pseuds/CrazyPrepared
Summary: Poppy hasn't even gotten on her broom yet and Branch has already gone out of his mind with worry.





	Quidditch

"You know," Branch said, in his most reasonable and logical voice, which was very reasonable and logical, by the way, and absolutely did not crack in the middle, so Guy Diamond could stuff it, "there are seven hundred ways to commit a Quidditch foul." He pulled the battered, school-library copy of  _Quidditch Through the Ages_  out of his bag, where he'd stuffed it just before rushing down to breakfast, because this was his  _absolute last chance_ , and he  _could not muck it up._

"Mm." Poppy took a huge, ravenous bite out of the thickly-buttered biscuit in her hand, and sprayed crumbs everywhere when she spoke. "I know that."

Right, yeah, okay, fine, so she knew that—her mother had captained the Holyhead Harpies for nearly six years, of course she knew that, how could he have been so  _stupid_ —no, didn't matter, it didn't matter, he could still—he could still do this. Last chance. He wasn't giving up that easy. He sat up a little straighter in his seat. "In the World Cup of 1473, all seven hundred were committed."

"Huh." Poppy crammed the last of the biscuit in her mouth. "Neat-o." More crumbs spewed out.

"It was not 'neat-o'!" Branch snapped, and snatched the plate of biscuits away as she reached for another one—at least now she'd have to _look_  at him. "People almost died in that match, Poppy, did you know that?!"

"Branch." Smidge spoke up around the forkful of eggs she'd just stuffed in her mouth. "Beat it."

"You really  _should_  go back to your table," Poppy added earnestly—in lieu of biscuits, she'd started in on her bacon. "Don't think any of the professors are real big on stuff like this. Can you believe that?"

"You tried to sit with the Hufflepuffs for a solid week," Smidge reminded her, chomping on a sausage.

"Like, half my friends are in Hufflepuff! It's really ridiculous, all this separation between the Houses, like, who cares if you're braver than you are smart, or smarter than you are brave, or more—"

"Poppy," Branch cut her off, trying to get the conversation back on-track—last chance, and he couldn't muck it up. In a few minutes, she'd be heading down to the pitch for her first match, and he had to make her see sense before then. "Do you know the statistics for Quidditch-related injuries?"

Poppy actually _laughed_ , like she wasn't about to go out risking painful dismemberment in less than ten minutes' time. "Come  _on_ , Branch, it's not like anyone's ever _died_!"

Branch lost it. A little. Maybe. "Broken bones! Broomstick sabotage! Mysterious vanishings! Bludgers to the head!" He slammed  _Quidditch Through the Ages_  down on the table in front of her, scattering biscuit crumbs. "You have no idea, Poppy,  _anything could happen to you_   _out there on that field today_!"

"Don't worry," Smidge finished off her sausage, and flexed her muscles threateningly, "no Bludger's getting near Poppy while I've still got a club."

"Oh, _yeah_ , one girl on  _one_  broomstick with  _one measly little club_?! Thanks  _so much_ , I am  _completely reassured_ —!"

Smidge kicked him under the table.

"Listen, Branch," Poppy pushed away her plate, "don't get me wrong, it's really sweet that you care so much—"

"C-care?!" No, no, no, that was—that was  _not_ —that was  _absolutely not_ —and when had the Great Hall gotten so warm—? "D-don't be ridiculous, Poppy! I'm just tr-trying to talk some  _sense_  into you before you get yourselfkilled!" Oh, great, and now—now he was stuttering—and he had no reason to be stuttering, none at all, because it wasn't like he  _actually cared_  or anything, no way, not in a  _million years_ —

"Hey, hey, hang on," Poppy frowned at him, and pushed her bangs out of her eyes, "you—you are coming to the match. R-right?"

_What kind of question is—?_

"B-because," she pressed on, chewing on her bottom lip and shifting a little in her seat, and looking so not-Poppy, he only knew her by the bubblegum-pink hair, "I-I mean, I know you hate Quidditch, a-and you think it's really stupid, and you think I'm stupid for playing, and I know you hate crowds and you hate noise and you're not even in Gryffindor, s-so I guess it won't matter to you if we win or not, b-but it's my f-first match, and I—I—"

"I—I don't think you're stupid," Branch blurted out, before he could stop himself. "I—I mean, don't get me wrong," he added when she raised an incredulous eyebrow at him, "this—this whole thing is—I mean, this game shouldn't even be legal, with all the injuries and accidents and stuff, b-but I mean, I-I don't think you're  _stupid_. You're  _not_ stupid." If he was being honest with himself, Poppy was about the farthest thing from stupid he could imagine—the smartest person he knew, and then some—but there was no need to go telling her that—her head was already big enough as it was—

"So, you—" Poppy looked at him hopefully. "— _are_  coming to the match?"

"Yeah, 'course I am, why in Merlin's name would I miss your first—?" Wait, no, hang on, that wasn't right, that was not right, that was not what he meant to say at all, and now she had a great big stupid grin on her face and oh, God, the Great Hall was warming up again, much quicker this time. "I—I mean—! S-somebody's got to be there, to—to scr-scrape you off the field when you fall off your broom, that's all!" His voice cracked. Right in the middle. He inwardly cursed Guy Diamond to hell. "I—I need to get back to my table!" He grabbed  _Quidditch Through the Ages_  off the table and tried to stuff it back down in his bag except it wouldn't go in because he was an idiot who carried all his textbooks with him even when he didn't need them and even though Poppy laughed at him for it and now that he thought about it he'd only checked out the stupid book in the first place right after Poppy had made the team and why did he have to start thinking about that  _now_  and the back of his neck burned and he finally got the book in his bag and got to his feet and the Ravenclaw table had never looked farther away than it did now, and he didn't look back—didn't want to look back, that was it—on his way back to his seat.

_Care_. Right. Yeah.  _Ridiculous._

**Author's Note:**

> liSTEN...LISTEN...Poppy would absolutely 1000000% play Quidditch and Branch would 10000000% Not Support This Decision At All. He's going to attend her every match, of course, but he Is Not Going to Support Her Reckless Tomfoolery. ((also this has absolutely nothing to do with anything but Poppy's either a Chaser or the Keeper. Probably a Chaser. She's crazy talented. it's not important, but it's important.))
> 
> They're in their second or third year here, so just to be clear, Branch's feelings for Poppy are purely platonic at this point. Nothing wrong with having crushes or anything at a younger age, but anything romantic between them in this fic won't occur until at least fourth or fifth year, just 'cause. You know. Let kids be kids.


End file.
